


Wavering

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Porthos,” he whispers, can’t put to words everything he’s felt – that kind of narrow-mindedness that brought him to Porthos’ room in the first place, his throat heavy with all the words he’s swallowed back, still hasn’t told Porthos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wavering

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr for the prompt "any kink you want". Naturally I selected pining + blowjobs because I am a simple, simple woman at the end of the day.

It is not frustration that brings Aramis to Porthos’ room, or boredom or any particular string of longing. He goes because there is comfort there, because he knows that Porthos understands. He understands a lot, to the point where Aramis hardly needs to speak to anything without Porthos understanding what is needed. 

Porthos is cleaning his pistol when Aramis slips in through the front door. He looks up, smiles, looks happy to see him – and Aramis doesn’t speak for the sight of it, just offers a small smile back. This is enough, he thinks. He closes the door behind him, leans against the wood. There are scattered papers across the table Porthos is working at – lessons in reading, Aramis thinks distantly. 

“Hey,” Porthos says and Aramis nods, doesn’t speak, just steps forward. Porthos watches him, smiling gently, and tilts his head up when Aramis leans in close, kisses Aramis, lets Aramis kiss him. 

“I want to suck your cock,” Aramis says and Porthos laughs in his face – not for the words, but just caught by surprise.

“Yeah, hello to you, too,” Porthos says around a wide grin that makes Aramis’ heart twist up. 

And then: Aramis kneeling down to him and Porthos’ face gentling in kindness (a kindness, Aramis fears, he can never truly deserve). He kneels, sits back on his heels. 

“You want me on the bed, though?” Porthos asks and Aramis shakes his head, crawls forward so that his head is pressing to the underside of the table for a moment before he moves into the protection of Porthos’ legs. Porthos widens his position for him, lets Aramis get comfortable. His legs frame Aramis’ body and Aramis lets one hand rest on his thigh, draw it in closer so that it presses against his side. 

Porthos’ hand cups the back of his head – doesn’t guide him or press him forward, just rests. Aramis hardly needs the encouragement to move forward. The heavy pressure of Porthos’ touch is impossible to resist – and so he scrambles to undo his belt, tug down his trousers enough to get at his cock, licks at it to coax it to plump up, to get it to harden so he can suck it right. 

He tastes salt on his tongue when the cockhead presses against his lips, heavy and wonderful. Aramis licks. Porthos sighs out, legs shivering under his palms. He forces Porthos’ cock into his mouth, swallows around it with unbearable care. Porthos’ fingertips shift gently through his hair, over his neck, thumb pressing to the hinge of his jaw to force his mouth open wider. 

Aramis whines around the girth of his cock, knows it well and always loves the weight of it on his tongue – sucks carefully, presses his tongue along the underside. Porthos strokes his hair and pulls him in further. Aramis breathes through his nose, takes it – takes it in, takes it deep. His own cock aches with the attention he pays Porthos, the lack of attention he pays himself—

But he doesn’t care. This, at least, he can give. This, at least, is a joy to give – to Porthos, only to Porthos. He whines out, swallows around him, breathes out thick through his nose as he bobs down lower onto the cock, pillows his tongue along the underside, coaxed forward by Porthos’ breathless sounds, the twist of his fingers in his hair. 

This is bliss. Both of Porthos’ hands cradle his head now, draw him along, guide him now. Aramis gasps for breath when he draws away from his cock, lets it rest against his cheek, presses sloppy kisses at the inside of Porthos’ thigh, his hip. Tries to breathe, sucks in air greedily so he might better swallow him down, suffocate around Porthos. When he goes back again, sucks him down, he lets Porthos lead him, lets Porthos own him like this – it serves Aramis right, to know to what extent Porthos means to him when he feels Porthos coming against his tongue, his lips. He draws back enough so that some of the come hits his mouth, his cheek. Closes his eyes and shivers, shudders, presses the heel of his palm against his own cock, draws it out shakily as he strokes Porthos through it – comes on his own hand only a few strokes later. He shivers, kneeled on the floor as he is. Looks up at Porthos, who thumbs at his cheek to draw away the come there. 

Aramis leans forward, licks at his fingertips before he can wipe it away, tastes Porthos’ come on his tongue, on his lips. Pants out in his desire – needing, oh, needing so much—

“Porthos,” he whispers, can’t put to words everything he’s felt – that kind of narrow-mindedness that brought him to Porthos’ room in the first place, his throat heavy with all the words he’s swallowed back, still hasn’t told Porthos. Porthos is looking at him with an incomprehensibly fond sort of look, the kind that makes Aramis’ insides twist up in such longing. He wonders, frightened, if Porthos might already know everything.


End file.
